Barely Legal

1

Benny Slick’s life was flashing before his eyes. It was flashing upside down because two goons were hanging him by his heels from the window of his fourteenth-floor office. The elderly bookmaker had been hit with financial reversals. A horse running at two hundred to one had finished first; a surprising number of people had bet on the nag to win, and in order to pay them off, Benny had been forced to borrow more money than he had any realistic hope of repaying.

The result was a visit from the one man in the world you didn’t want to see. Mario “Payday” Capelleti, so named for his habit of walking into the shops of those who owed him money with two thugs and proclaiming “It’s Payday!” had quite a reputation, and it wasn’t good. Those who didn’t pay were left with a reminder of why this behavior might not be the wisest course of action. Benny Slick was receiving such a reminder.

Mario Payday was puffing on a big cigar. He walked over to the window and blew smoke in Benny’s direction. It barely reached him, but the effect was chilling.

“Hi, Benny. Remember me? You should. You took my money. And you failed to pay me back. Not only did you fail to pay me the principal, you failed to pay me the vig. No one fails to pay Mario Payday the interest on a loan. How could you forget that?”

“I didn’t forget!” Benny cried desperately.

Mario’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you did it deliberately? Benny, you know such disrespect cannot be tolerated.”

“I didn’t do it deliberately!”

“But you do remember that you owe me money?”

“Yes, yes, I remember.”

Mario smiled and spread his arms. “He remembers. It’s amazing how quickly people remember when they’re upside down. So where is my money?”

Benny’s life was still flashing before his eyes, but then he was ninety-two years old and there was a lot to flash. From somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind the right image emerged. “I got it!”

“What have you got, Benny?”

“I got your money!”

“How much money have you got, Benny?”

“I got ninety grand!”

Mario nodded approvingly. “Pull him up.”

Mario’s goons pulled Benny back into the office. His legs were weak and he could barely stand.

Mario’s glare was not helping. “Ninety grand, Benny? You have ninety grand and you couldn’t pay me?”

“It’s not in cash.”

Mario snapped his fingers, pointed to the window. “Put him back.”

Benny put up his hands. “No, no, no. You don’t have to do that. I have a marker for ninety grand. It’s good as cash. You can have it.”

“What marker?”

“Vinnie the Vig owed me money, and he didn’t have the cash so he gave me a marker.”

“Vinnie the Vig is dead.”

“It’s not his marker. Vinnie was holding another guy’s marker for ninety grand. When he went into my debt, he transferred the marker to me, and I will now pass it on to you.”

“You have a marker for ninety grand and you never cashed it?”

“I couldn’t. I was in prison.”

“Where’s this marker now?”

“It’s in my desk.” Benny hurried to his desk and began rifling through the drawers, praying he could find the marker he’d promised was in them. He hadn’t cashed it because he’d forgotten it was there. Shortly after he’d received it he was sent off to the state penitentiary for indulging in his chosen profession. By the time he got out he’d forgotten all about the marker, and only recalled it with eternity staring him in the eye.

Benny pulled out his petty cash box, took out the money tray, and searched through the papers in the bottom.

Mario watched him with growing skepticism. “You have a marker for ninety grand and you keep it with the petty cash receipts?”

Benny hoped he did, but it was looking less likely.

And then, suddenly, victory.

Benny clutched the slip of paper and held it up. “Here! Here!”

Mario took the marker. “All right, let’s see who owes me ninety thousand dollars.”

He held it up, read the name.

“Herbie Fisher.”